


I'm still the best, Potter

by SlytherinSweetheart (Cherrypie62666)



Series: Little by Little [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Draco is amazing, Everyone should be so lucky as to be like him, Funny, I wrote this in like an hour, M/M, Mostly it's just Draco and his self-love, Other, POV Draco, Scorbus, Squint and you can see Drarry, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This is what happens when you tell someone a headcanon you have and they insist you write it, Why Did I Write This?, i crack myself up, it's cute, read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 03:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13755327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherrypie62666/pseuds/SlytherinSweetheart
Summary: “I was just about to head out,” he informed the two of them by way of greeting, eyeing their conjoined hands with an amused quirk of his mouth.  “I won’t be home in time for supper, but Marigold promises she’ll set out whatever you’d like.  Albus is welcome to stay until I return.”“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” the dark-haired boy chirped, just sunnily enough that he had to physically repress the urge to wince.  Seeing the likeness of his long-standing rival beam back at him from a teenager’s face was odd enough.  He didn’t want to hear the jubilation in the boy's tone directed his way, as well.“Please, Albus, how many times must I insist that you call me Draco,” he drawled, lifting a single dark brow.  “Mr. Malfoy was my father, and I’d prefer not to inherit the title.”Or, Draco has a secret.This can totally be a thing if people want it to be a thing. I'm not against adding more.





	I'm still the best, Potter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BookofSpells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofSpells/gifts).



> This is what you get when you ask me to write a fic based solely on a headcanon I have. Yes, I put it in probably every fic that has Draco, and if I haven't, I am shocked and appalled at myself for not.  
> This is the best headcanon and I crack myself up, so come laugh along with me and sorry for doing this to everyone.  
> It'll be quick and moderately painless. :)

Draco Malfoy stood in front of the full-length mirror, meticulously inspecting his outfit with a sharp and critical gaze.  His long silvery-blond hair was pulled back at his nape and secured with a ribbon, his alabaster skin cleanly shaven, smooth and clear of all blemishes.  Both of his naturally thicker eyebrows were perfectly plucked and sculpted, not a single stray hair out of place. 

A smile curled one side of his mouth, turning away with a throaty chuckle.

On his feet, both of his loafers were polished like marble, the black so sleek and reflective that he could see within them a smaller version of his handsome face.  His white cotton shirt was without a single wrinkle, the emerald tie around his throat looped in a full Windsor knot and fastened in the middle with a sparkling golden clip.  His trousers were still warm from their recent press, his deeply grey vest free from the smallest speck of lint. 

Even his long black robes, though they swayed and twisted down to the mahogany wooden floor, pooling there softly, still hung themselves in perfect pleats; as if he’d magicked them to do just that.

He hadn’t, of course, they were simply top of the line materials and he expected nothing less of them.  Still, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, considering the other thing he _did_ magic them to do whenever he stepped out of the house.  The very thing he’d agonized over for months until he worked through the embarrassing quirks, coming out the other side a graceful and glorious work of art.

Pulling his wand from his pocket, he cast the familiar charm on the thick downy fabric, a flash of purple light rippling through the black.  They wouldn’t do anything straight away, not until he began to walk around freely.  Then, they would billow around him as if they were dancing, caught up by a fluttering breeze.  It was perhaps his greatest achievement, and the fact that it drew all curious eyes his way brought him unparalleled joy.

Many a passerby had stopped and murmured about the strange sight, whispering things under their breath about how he managed such an act without a hint of wind to aid him.  It was a secret, of course, one that few knew for sure, and something he had few qualms about taking with him to the grave. 

That is to say, only his dear son had caught him in the act woefully by accident and had to be bribed with copious amounts of books and sweets not to tell a soul how it was achieved.  The embarrassment and shame alone were sure to kill him, and no doubt that insufferable git Potter would never allow him to hear the end of it should word get out.

He advanced down the hall with a swoosh of hips, the familiar fluttering sensation causing his heart to swell with pride.  Draco was nothing if not the most well-dressed person in the whole of the Ministry, not that he had much by way of competition. That didn't stop him from being so, it was just an innocent observation that anyone with eyes would make. Most of the riff-raff couldn't even be bothered to tuck in their shirts, let alone keep them fresh and cleanly.

Like Harry Potter, who showed up each day with that dreaded nest on his head he still alleged was his hair, shirt crinkled and stained with spots of some unknown and unsightly substance, glasses sitting askew on his goldenly-tanned face.  He would never come close to the level of grace and poise that Draco oozed without forethought, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to rub his superiority in the prat’s face just by merely existing and being effortlessly better than him. 

He wasn’t above silent gloating.

The rest of the lot _might_ have dressed a tad more refined than Harry.  Not that it was a hard thing to achieve, even a monkey in a top hat had more class and charm.  That still didn’t put them anywhere close to Draco’s level.  And while some might prefer the lack of tact Potter exhibited around peers and his undeniable lust for a trip to an early grave, ignoring outright his egregiously dull personality and his ineptitude at figuring out how to properly dress himself, there was something to be said for the cool confidence and suave genteel of someone with a pristine pedigree and a thousand-galleon suit.

Stopping in the foyer, he readjusted his tie in the small antique mirror, catching sight of the two young boys standing just inside the parlor.  Turning, he smiled at his son and fetched his cane, the head a deep coal-colored chunk of serendibite, carved into the shape of a dragon’s claw.

“I was just about to head out,” he informed the two of them by way of greeting, eyeing their conjoined hands with an amused quirk of his mouth.  “I won’t be home in time for supper, but Marigold promises she’ll set out whatever you’d like.  Albus is welcome to stay until I return.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” the dark-haired boy chirped, just sunnily enough that he had to physically repress the urge to wince.  Seeing the likeness of his long-standing rival beam back at him from a teenager’s face was odd enough.  He didn’t want to hear the jubilation in the boy's tone directed his way, as well.

“Please, Albus, how many times must I insist that you call me Draco,” he drawled, lifting a single dark brow.  “Mr. Malfoy was my father, and I’d prefer not to inherit the title.”  He left out the _especially from the likes of The Chosen One’s son_ as he didn’t think it was polite to split hairs.  It wasn’t the boy’s fault who his parents were.  Nor his.

“Er.  Right.  Sorry, Mr… I mean, Draco.”

Scorpius smiled so brightly it melted his heart, giving the hand clasped in his own a gentle shake.  “Have a good evening, father.  And don’t forget that you still owe me another game of chess.”

Draco laughed heartily, patting his son on the shoulder.  “Alright.  I’ll be sure to put it on my calendar once I get to the office.  You boys behave while I’m gone.”  Turning his sights on Albus, he grimaced.  “I shudder to think what your mother will do should anything _dangerous_ or _unseemly_ happen on my watch or lack thereof.  It’s all the same to those Weasley women.”

Albus grinned in response, emerald eyes sparkling with mischievous intent.  “Don’t worry, sir.  I won’t evoke her wrath anytime soon.”

“See that you don’t.  I’m off, then.”

Spinning on his heel, he walked the rest of the way to the door, robes billowing around him before he apparated away.

When he was gone, Albus turned a quizzical look his boyfriend’s way.  “How does he always do that, without even a hint of wind?”

Scorpius chuckled softly, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on the other’s cheek.  “It’s better if you don’t ask, love.  Trust me.”

* * *

 

Draco landed in the Atrium with a low pop, straightening out his clothes as he made his way across the dark polished floors, down to the golden gates at the far end that housed the lifts.  The room was crowded with bodies going to and fro, but despite the chaos and compact space, they parted way for him, allowing him the freedom to float along with poise and grace.

The doors opened with a soft ping and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the first floor.  Before they had a chance to close again, finding him happily alone, a tan-skinned hand suddenly grabbed the metal to keep them open.

“Shite,” the person wheezed as they shuffled inside, hunched over and out of breath.  Standing upright, he smiled a crooked smile, pushing glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.  “All right, Malfoy,” Harry said, wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.  “Just get in, then?”

“Potter,” he greeted the other, quite reluctantly, eyeing the man’s disheveled appearance with disdain.  The least he could do would be to iron his clothes.  They even had a spell for it, if you were that lazy.  “And yes, just a moment ago.”

“Sorry for commandeering your lift.  If you’re tardy, you can tell Mione that it was my fault.  I know how she is about punctuality.”

“That’s okay,” Draco insisted.  “I’m always promptly early to all occasions.”  He muttered a quick _unlike some people_ under his breath, but the noise from the bustling crowd drowned it out.

The doors closed, and the lift started to rise.

Harry faced forward and clasped his hands together, staring straight ahead at his reflection in the metal as he rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet.  “Nice weather we’re having lately,” he commented absentmindedly, to which Draco felt little need to reply with more than just a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.  After a beat, he tried again.  “Albus came to visit Scorpius today, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“No doubt they have a better time at your Manor than at our place.  More room.  Fewer people to disturb their-”

Draco turned with a quirked a brow.

Harry’s green eyes snapped away from his face, flicking up to the gauge above the door that counted each floor as they traveled.

He watched the other out of the corner of his eye, but Harry never once looked back or tried to resume the small talk.  When the doors finally opened, the man stepped aside and placed a hand on them to block them from closing back up, smiling crookedly as he gestured out into the hall beyond.

“Your floor, mate.”

“I thought,” Draco began, and then stopped, slamming his mouth shut as his brow furrowed.  Harry never once pressed a floor, so it made sense that they’d go to level one despite the fact level two was before it.

Raking a hand through his unruly black hair, he shrugged.  “I figured, you got there first,” Harry replied sheepishly.  “It’s only polite to let you out before me.  I’ll just ride it back to my floor.”

“Ah.  Well, then, have a good day,” he said coolly before stepping through the metal gates.  His robes fluttered, and he felt a tinge of satisfaction pool in his chest.

“Er, Draco,” the other mumbled, stopping him in his tracks.  Turning back, he caught another awkward smile pull at his lips.  “Al has been pestering me for some time now, and so I thought I’d ask if you’d like to come to dinner sometime next week?  With… with Scorpius, of course.  The two of you.  Together.”

Tilting his head to the side, Draco smirked.  “I’ll check my schedule,” he murmured, silver eyes sparkling in the soft light.  “But I should think it doable.”

“Fantastic.  I’ll let Albus know.”

“Have a good one, Potter.”

“You, too, Malfoy.”

The metal doors closed, and he spun on his heel, a billow of fabric following behind.

**Author's Note:**

> See, I didn't say that it wasn't Drarry. You could pretend it is. I pretty much do, considering the fact we all know how much Draco loves him. It's obvious. I made it more obvious.  
> And Scorbus was in there! I in no way tricked anyone into reading by claiming relationships. :3
> 
> I like to pretend this happens somewhere in the same universe as my other two Scorbus fics, long after the ending I've yet to write for the second.  
> I even tagged the series because it was hilarious and I have no regrets.  
> Some regrets.  
> All of the regrets.
> 
> Hit me up on Tumblr, and remember that a suggestion for me to write a fic might just result in you getting to read that fic - Cherrypie62666
> 
> Also, if you want more moments, I have thought of a bunch. I can indeed add them here. Just ask. Low-key Drarry, occasional Scorbus, and Draco loving himself only a hair more than he loves being better than Potter.


End file.
